Burning Lights
by Maire Truesight
Summary: He was the Protector King. The Just Ruler. The Trustworthy Brother. And so to protect, to uphold justice, and to fulfill a trust, Edmund swung his sword with a cry. Golden Age fic, moviebased. T for violence and mention of blood. Credits to Chris Tomlin, electrum, and C.S. Lewis.


**Burning Lights**

 **A/N: Hello, everyone! Welcome to my first fanfiction, or at least, the first one I've had the courage to post. This oneshot is actually something of a precursor to a much longer and drawn out story arc I'm planning that should be up soon. The title, 'Burning Lights', is due to the fact that this fic, and quite a bit of the stories to follow, are inspired by Chris Tomlin's album of the same name. The particular songs that inspired this one are 'Lay Me Down,' 'God of Angel Armies,' and 'White Flag'. To give more credit where its due, the name of Edmund's sword, Shafelm, belongs to the lovely electrum, who allowed me to borrow the name. His other sword, Aedin, is a name of my own invention which will stand for the Narnian word of 'freedom'. And lastly, The Chronicles of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis, therefore I do not own the characters. I'm just an aspiring writer who loves his work.**

Edmund gasped out as he dodged yet another stab from the Giant in front of him, balancing on the balls of his feet as his twin swords, Shafelm and Aedrin, flickered around him as extensions of his arms, protecting his body from the greater harms around him in the bloody wasteland. The cries of the wounded and dying as well as the defiant yells of his warriors still alive echoed in his ears, an endless cacophony that had remained since this battle, this war, had begun.

This new war with the Giants of Ettinsmoor had been uninvited, unwelcome, and was now costing Narnia a great many of her soldiers, and Edmund was frankly tired of it all. He hated drawn out skirmishes, especially the ones in the colder, more open lands of the Northern Marshes, where brute strength and numbers held a great sway in the process of determining victory. Unlike the twists and turns of his own Western Woods, and the brief campaigns he'd held against the Fell Creatures that remained in hiding from the Witch's reign. There was a reason that the Northern March of Narnia was Peter's domain and not his. And yes, it was usually his brother who'd be leading these sorts of battles while he supported from the shadows. But his idiotically noble brother had been seriously hit by an oversized giant club a few days before, and Edmund, ignoring Peter's protests and declaring him unfit to give orders until he'd had some of Lucy's cordial, had sent the High King East with their General Oreius and a mix of their personal guards, to the Cair and their sisters and healing.

The younger of Narnia's kings grit his teeth as he felled yet another of the enemy and pushed forward. He was confident in the skills of his soldiers, who were holding the line quite well behind him, new soldiers continuing to come to the fore should one of their comrades fall. Edmund had his troops continuously switching out, rotating so that everyone could gain a brief respite before losing themselves in the bloody skirmishes. Wounded and the remains of their fallen were dragged out of the battle line as much as possible to be treated by the healers at the back of the line. It was an efficient setup, one Narnia was famous for. But the lost grew in number with every passing day, and Edmund wanted nothing more than to end this once and for all. Another reason he hated fighting giants was that typically, the huge creatures had very much brawn and very little brain. With their superior strategy and skill, Narnia's armies had already cut down a good number of giants, and any other general would have pulled his forces back in an attempt to save their men. Byrguz had no such love for his people, nor his brother Vygra. In fact, it was Vygra who'd started the war while Byrguz remained still in their homeland.

"King Edmund!"

Edmund chanced a glance backwards to see Hadreth, kinsman of Oreius, captain in Edmund's personal guard and one of his closest friends and companions, gesturing for him to step back. The Just King obliged, and a satyr stepped in to fill his place in the line. Edmund took a deep breath and surveyed the scene before him. He'd managed to position his forces on a downward slope merging with the rocky plains were the better part of the battle was taking place, the barren mountains marking the northern border of Narnia at the other end of the plain. Even from this distance, Edmund could see the rocky outcrop in the middle of the plain holding the command troop of the giants, and the pass in the mountains that they needed to drive these creatures through in order to win this war. "What news, Hadreth? How are we doing?" he gasped, his lungs heaving as he recovered his breath. Unlike the others, Edmund refused to switch out save for quick mid-battle counsels with his officers. A King should not lay down his sword 'til the battle was finished.

"Amberbeak the Gryphon reported not ten minutes ago, my liege. The giant army is reduced to but a quarter of their original force, so we should have little to fear from them when this war is finished. She also thinks that, if we can push them far enough this battle and slay enough of their men, this war may be finished today. Victory will be ours soon, my King."

Edmund wiped Aedin on his tabard and sheathed it across his back before scanning the battle line before him. A cheetah hissed and was crushed beneath a foot. Three fauns were thrown to the side by a blow from a club. Watching his people suffer and fall before him, his eyes hardened. "Not soon enough. Hadreth?" he asked. The centaur eyed his young ruler warily. It was well-known among Narnians that Edmund was the type of leader who'd charge headlong into battle before all his men, and leave the field last in retreat so as to defend his people. It was the reason that the armies followed their younger king into battle willingly and gladly, if with no small amount of concern for their leader. Ever since saving his brother from the Jadis's wand on the fields of Beruna, the Just King was well known for his sacrificial tendencies in battle. "Yes, my lord?"

"Vygra is there, is he not?"

Hadreth's heart sunk as he realized where this conversation was leading. "Yes."

"And Byrguz? Has he moved at all? What news does Speckleplume bring?"

"He sent his son Spotfletch here this morn, just as the battle begun so I was not able to bring you news. He journeys further into Ettinsmoor."

"Very well. Spread the word. When the horn is blown, we will push further into Vygra's forces. Take it slowly and tell our soldiers to fight with caution. I will go on ahead."

"Majesty, what is it you plan to do?" The concern was palpable now in Hadreth's face and voice. Edmund gripped his friend's forearm tightly and spared him a tight grin. "I plan to end this war." He looked back to the battle line and spotted a faun who was wavering, but persistently trading blows with a foe twice his side. Unsheathing Aedin with his left hand, he pulled the creature back and stepped into his place with a battle cry.

Narnia's enemies (as well as her less secure allies) often judged her Magnificent High King to be the greatest threat among the four rulers, although it was well known that his siblings, even his queens, were formidable in their own right. But to compare the visibly strong and powerful High King, with his fierce attitude and bearing with the temper to match, with his quiet and calm younger brother, at a glance Peter _was_ the bigger threat of the rulers. However, those in Narnia knew that the Just King was just as formidable. While their High King was a great general, King Edmund was the strategist who had the capability to plan seven steps ahead of any possibility. What he lacked in Peter's strength, he made up in agility and skill. While Peter fought in the traditional manner of sword and shield, an irresistible, undeniable force in the midst of battle, Edmund was all grace and speed, his two swords, nicknamed by Narnians as the Twin Blades of the West through its many reincarnations, had many an enemy ruing their all-too-fatal mistake of underestimating the younger king.

And so it was again in this battle.

The soldiers would later relate how Edmund had been a blur of red, gold, and steel in the battle, moving through his foes quickly and leaving a path of destruction behind him. Dwarf-tempered steel cut and stabbed through the lower halves of the giants' bodies, occasionally coming across a giant small enough for him to stab square in the chest. Those that lived were finished off by the careless swings or steps of their own companions, or by the Narnians who fought their way down the slope to follow their warrior king. As for Edmund himself, he could remember nothing later on but a blur of steel and blood. Personally, he felt it was better this way. He had no wish to remember each and every life he took after the fact. Peter could testify, as could he, that their nightmares were bad enough without them remembering all the details of their battles.

Eventually, he realized that there was no one before him and that he'd arrived at the small outcrop where he'd seen Vygra from his place by Hadreth's side. But Hadreth was not here. Only him and the giant before him. He paused for a second to take in his foe. Vygra was big, even by giant standards. He would tower over a tree, had there been one standing nearby. Stringy black hair hung in dreadlocks, and a massive broadsword was strapped across his back. Unlike his soldiers, who'd worn little more than rags and light leather armor, Vygra was covered head to toe in dull, rusty armor, with an open helm sitting on his ugly head. What worried Edmund the most, however, was the cleverness in the giant's eyes. There were the occasional giants, of course, who actually had brains, and it seemed that Vygra was one of them. Edmund realized he'd have to fight smarter with this giant, who was not as shallow or dim as the mere soldiers that he'd faced on the field behind them.

"King Edmund!" the giant called mockingly. Edmund lowered Aedin in reply, raising Shafelm to point at his enemy. "Surrender, Vygra!" he yelled over the din behind him. "Spare your kin! Return peacefully to your own lands, swear on your honor, your brother's and the name of Aslan that you will not attack us unprovoked ever again, and I swear on my crown and on Aslan's mane that I will show you and your men mercy!" Edmund honestly had no hope that Vygra would accept his offer. Giants had no care for one another, and his scouts reported that Byrguz cared little for his people aside from as a means to an end. He had no doubt that his brother was the same, but nonetheless, he had to try. Unfortunately, Vygra only fulfilled his expectations.

"I care nothing for your _mercy,_ little King," Vygra sneered. "I care only for your life! I will have it, and your head as my trophy!" Edmund forced himself to ignore the screams of the battle raging behind and around him, ignore that none of his own men had reached his side and could guarantee no foul play. His life was Aslan's, and his spirit lay in the Lion's paws. "A duel, then, foul one?" he challenged. "If I win, then you and your people will continue this war no longer, on your own oath and that of your brother's and in the name of Aslan, son of the Great Emperor-over-the-sea?"

"Aye, _Little King!_ " Vygra snarled. "And when I win, I will conquer your lands, I will have your life, and that of your army's as well!" The battle raged on around them, but no one paid them any attention, nor did they care for anything around them. All that existed were their weapons and the enemy before them. "Do you agree to my terms as I agreed to yours, Edmund the Just?"

"I pledge you no land, fell one, and no life other than my own!" Edmund retorted. "May Aslan punish me greatly if I do so, for it is His land I fight for, and I cannot give you that which is not mine!" The giant spat at his feet, and Edmund glared at him. Vygra scowled. "You hang so greatly on the word of your _Aslan!_ He is not here, is he? I will claim your life, your brother's, and nothing can stop me, so-called King of Narnia! You are no King at all, but a traitor, and all know it! It falls to me only to prove it on my blade!"

And with a great roar, the giant captain and the Just King charged.

Edmund dodged nimbly out of the way, his feet dancing, Aedin already cutting across Vygra's forearm while Shafelm slashed across his calves. Vygra let out a cry of fury and pain, his eyes beginning to glow red with famed giant bloodlust. Edmund felt his own rage growing within him, but he swallowed it down, consciously forcing himself to keep his head. His subconscious travelled back to the cramped spaces underneath the Cair, where he'd train in secret, developing new tactics and strategies and styles with which his skill in swordfighting would shine through. He thought back to the fond exasperation of Oreius as they trained on the fields near the Cair.

 _"Soon, I will have little more to teach you, Majesty," Oreius commented amiably. "You've outdone yourself. Indeed, I believe the day fast approaches when we will meet on these fields with you as my teacher and I your student."_

Edmund had basked in the praise then. Now it was time to see his hard work come to fruition.

After a few more nimble dodges, Edmund realized that while big, Vygra was smart. Far smarter than any of the brutes he'd faced earlier, and he was also far faster in a way that belied his size. The teen's eyes narrowed as he studied his opponent more carefully. His muscles were more bunched up and tense than normal. Vygra was holding back, and judging by the way he was studying Edmund as well, he was also analyzing the way Edmund moved. Realizing that he'd have to throw all traditional tactics to the wind, Edmund hid a smirk. Time to improvise.

Faking a lunge to the right, then tackling the left when Vygra tried to follow him, the young king jumped up and caught one of the rings in Vygra's enormous chainmail. Using the rest of the mail as a ladder of sorts, he sheathed Aedin across his back, and, clutching Shafelm tightly in his right, started to climb up. Vygra bellowed and tried swatting Edmund off, but he just jumped off of the chainmail and grabbed onto the giant's hand after a terrifying moment of weightlessness. Since the hand that had managed to grab the giant's sleeve happened to be the hand that was also holding Shafelm, Edmund palmed a small but sharp dagger in his left hand, and, forcing himself up, stabbed the giant's wrist.

Vygra cried in pain and threw Edmund off. Forced to drop Shafelm, he drew himself into a roll, the harsh impact of the rocky ground knocking the breath from his lungs and making him black out but for an instant.

When he regained his sight and senses, he realized that Vygra had removed the dagger, and with his wrist bleeding heavily, was marching to Edmund with his sword raised high and his eyes wild with pain and anger. Throat dry and lungs heaving (ouch, wait, broken ribs, drat) he reached behind him with a wince, grasping Aedin's hilt and holding it with both hands. Stifling the urge to cry with pain from his probably broken rib, he reviewed his opponent's condition. Realizing with a grin that he'd managed to slice the vein in Vygra's wrist and that the giant would die soon anyway from blood loss, his priority shifted to finding a chink in the giant's armor. Unfortunately, Vygra didn't give him the courtesy of time to try.

Throwing himself into a roll to avoid a half-crazed stab into the dirt, Edmund nearly cried out as his ribs screamed in protest. Sensing more than seeing the giant's movements, he chanced a stab behind him and was rewarded by a pained shout as he picked himself up and darted away. Or, he would have, if his leg didn't nearly give out from underneath him. Rolling to the right, ignoring his ribs again, he chanced another stab backwards, slicing through the chain mail. However, the move cost him his grip on Aedin.

The youngest king of Narnia suppressed a groan as he managed to stand. Vygra was standing over him, blood pouring from his wounds, but ultimately better off than Edmund was. A wave of hopelessness struck him as he realized that it was likely he wouldn't get out of this alive. Fear struck at his heart, overwhelming him and paralyzing him as his mind played tricks on him. He was no longer standing before Vygra as a King, but as the terrified little boy who had been captured and tortured by the Witch. Unwilling, a low whimper escaped his lips, thankfully too quiet for the giant to notice. Edmund started to hyperventilate. _This is it,_ he thought. _I'm going to die. I failed Peter. I'm never going to see them again._

A low growl broke through his thoughts, and a voice that meant acceptance, warmth, hope, and Love, resounded in Edmund's head. _"Do you doubt me so much that you'd forget me, Dear Heart? I am your Strength and your Courage. I will go before you, stand behind, and stay by your side. Have fear of nothing, for I will not let any take my chosen from me."_ Aslan's words banished the fear, renewing his resolve and giving him strength. Edmund tensed, his dark eyes sweeping back and forth for an opportunity, a miracle, anything really. Aslan would not abandon him, not here, not ever. There was a way out, if he could only find it. A glint caught his attention, and the teen drew in a breath as he made out the steel of Shafelm in the long grass nearby… Right in between Vygra's legs.

Edmund bit his lip as the Giant smirked above him. He was out of options, save a foolish and reckless move that could get him killed regardless if he won the match or not. But Aslan's words were still there, still comforting and reassuring him. He had nothing to fear here, for Aslan was with him. _Aslan, go before me today,_ he prayed silently, gripping his fists at his sides. Ignoring the pain in his right knee, he dove in between Vygra's legs and, grabbing Shafelm in a two-handed grip, swung the dwarf-wrought steel twice; both resulting in deep slashes in the giant's calves.

Time slowed. The next few moments were a blur of noise, pain, and chaos, followed by a massive _thud!_ that toppled Edmund over. Blinded by dust and pain, he closed his eyes and curled in on himself. _Aslan, oh Aslan. Protect me,_ he thought as dirt and rubble landed around him. Nothing landed _on_ him, however, and Edmund fancied that he could feel Aslan curled around him, a shield against all harm. _'I am beside you,'_ He'd said. Edmund held onto that promise as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping his lashes. Eventually, the noise stopped, and Edmund lifted his head and opened his eyes. Vygra's legs lay on either side of him, and the air was clouded with dust and smoke.

Breathing heavily, the teen rose unsteadily to his feet and gripped Shafelm with his right hand. Stepping onto the giant's chest, he walked until he reached Vygra's chest. The giant captain was unconscious, black blood pooling under his head. If Edmund had to guess, he'd say that the wounds he'd inflected weren't nearly enough to slay his foe, but on landing, he'd hit his head on something hard. Hard enough to break through his skin and render him helpless. A stroke of luck, he'd have thought, if he hadn't felt Aslan's presence with him through the ordeal. No, Aslan did not deal with luck. Everything happened as it should have. _Thank you, Aslan. Thank you._

Edmund looked down at the giant's face. He wondered how Byrguz would react when news of Vygra's death reached him. He wondered whether the giant brothers were as close as he and Peter were. Whether Vygra was here covering for Byrguz the way he was covering for Peter. Whether Byrguz would grieve as badly as Edmund knew Peter would have had he been the one lost. For a second, he hesitated. Then he thought of his kingdom which Aslan had given him, of all the people he was fighting to protect. Of all the innocent creatures the giants had wounded and killed out of greed. Of Peter and Susan and Lucy who were waiting for him at Cair Paravel, trusting that he'd keep them safe. His resolve hardened, though he did not lose his regret. Both he and Vygra had entered this duel knowing that one of them would not leave alive. The mist thickened around him, and Edmund closed his eye, praying for Aslan's strength.

He was the Protector King. The Just Ruler. The Trustworthy Brother. And so to protect, to uphold justice, and to fulfill a trust, Edmund swung his sword with a cry.

"For Narnia, and for Aslan!"

As Vygra, brother of Giant-King Byrguz and captain of the Ettin forces breathed his last, a great roar echoed across the moor, making giant and Narnian alike pause. Hope entered those who fought for the Golden Lion, while each giant whimpered in fear. The Narnians felt their hearts and spirits soar as they lifted their swords with renewed vigor, encouraged by the assurance that there was a greater force who stood by their side. The giants broke ranks and fled when they looked to the outcrop, their height affording them a view that their opponents could not see. As the giants fled to the joy and confusion of the Narnians, wailing and dropping weapons recklessly as they ran for the pass on the other side of the plains, a ray of sunshine broke through the cloudy northern skies and shone on the King who knelt facing the East with both hands gripping his sword plunged deep in his foe's chest.

And the Narnians cheered.

 **A/N: Hello again. Did you see the part where this is my first posted fanfic? Making reviews, comments, and constructive criticism all the more appreciated, if it isn't too much trouble! Thank you so much!**

 **-Marie Truesight**


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